Bright Eyes
by We'reAllInsomniacs
Summary: It wasn't her toned body or her sharp beauty that attracted him most, it was the way her bright eyes lit up whenever they sparred that made him feel—actually feel—like he was understood. Her cooking was, of course, a plus. PPG Greens.


Loosely based off of sbj's More Than Human universe, because who am I kidding, her story has become canon-verse to me. This doesn't really fall at any particular time in her plot, per se, but if I had to force it somewhere it would probably come after the current chapters that are currently available.

Disclaimer: I've merely borrowed existing characters to satisfy my need for Greens, okay? Okay.

* * *

"Yo, BC," Butch called out when he saw Buttercup trudging out of class, "What's for lunch?"

Buttercup stretched her arms behind her back, yawning. "I didn't make lunch today. Woke up late."

"Are you fucking kidding me right now?" Butch sputtered, aghast, sidling up to her. "You expect me to eat cafe food?"

Buttercup raised an eyebrow and deadpanned, "We all know you would stuff your face with dirt if you were hungry enough. Besides, today's menu doesn't look too bad."

Butch's expression fell. "You guys didn't even have leftovers from yesterday's dinner?" he whined, trailing Buttercup to the cafeteria to line up with the other kids.

"Shut your trap, you dipshit," she slammed her elbow into his solar plexus and cackled when Butch doubled over, wheezing. "That's what you get for being an ungrateful twat."

The lunch lady slapped a large scoop of meatballs onto Buttercup's tray before yelling out to the rest of the line, "No more meatballs; we're out!"

A chorus of disappointed groans sounded in response, and Butch stared at the lunch lady placing the empty pot into the sink, disbelief etched across his features.

"No meatballs for ungrateful children," Buttercup laughed, floating over to her sisters seated at their usual table. Cursing under his breath, Butch followed, planning to steal as many meatballs as he could off of Buttercup's tray before she beat him senseless.

* * *

Butch woke up in the middle of the night with a start, chest heaving. He sat up in bed and ran a hand through his dark hair, trying to recollect his dream before it completely faded from his mind. The only thing he could remember was a pair of vivid green eyes shining at him from beneath a mess of black bangs, and he knew without a doubt that he had dreamt about Buttercup—he just didn't know what for.

Uncomfortable, Butch lay back down and considered the implications of dreaming about his best friend. He didn't think it was a wet dream; he's had many of those and waking up in the middle of one was a completely different feeling from this. After deciding that it was probably about something stupid, he closed his eyes and willed himself to go back to sleep.

* * *

"Goddammit, Butch, you're not playing by the rules!" Buttercup growled, returning Butch's serve with a smash from far above the court. Their tennis match had started out normally enough, but it quickly transformed into another game of trying to outdo the other using their superpowers.

"To hell with rules!" The tennis ball strained against Butch's reinforced racket before he sent it flying out to Buttercup's right.

Gritting her teeth, Buttercup intercepted the ball's path to outer space and sent it back towards Butch with a sharp _crack_. She smirked as it headed straight for Butch's groin, and then gleefully watched Butch drop out of the sky onto the ground below them.

"Fuck, BC!" Butch gasped, recovering from Buttercup's unfair move. He glowered up at her laughing form, and after a second of recomposing himself, he whipped his racket to the side and catapulted towards her.

"Take this, bitch!" Butch aimed a punch into Buttercup's gut, hard enough to make her cough blood.

"Oh, you asked for it," Buttercup snarled, roundhouse kicking Butch's side.

Butch blocked her next kick and grinned, his deep green eyes glittering. "Wouldn't be a good day without a fight."

* * *

They panted as they lay side by side on the hardcourt, allowing the chemical X in their system to heal their battle scars. "That was one wicked left hook," Butch commented, turning to look at Buttercup. "Pretty sure it would've broken my neck if I didn't manage to block it. Messed my arm up good."

Buttercup raised her knee to her chest, wincing as her bones shifted into place. "You smashed my shin and broke a rib or two. Props."

Buttercup held her fist out to him, then, and Butch was momentarily taken aback. Her hair was tousled and her eyes were bright—she looked like—

"What the hell man, are you gonna give me props or not!" Buttercup chuckled, bumping her fist against his on her own.

Butch stared at her blankly, studying her features. She didn't have that ethereal quality Blossom had, or the cute girl-next-door feel Bubbles exuded, but she really wasn't any less attractive. Her pale skin was just as free of blemishes, her nose just as perfectly pointed, her lips just as red and full, her eyelashes just as long, and her eyes—they were so bright, her dark lashes framing them to provide an even bigger contrast—her eyes glinted with satisfaction from their sparring. And he felt like he was drowning in them.

"'Kay, Butch," Buttercup frowned, "You're starting to creep me out."

Butch's face relaxed into an easy grin. "Creep is my middle name."

Rolling her eyes, Buttercup got to her feet. "See ya tomorrow, kid," she said, "I need to head home early. On dinner duty tonight."

Butch watched Buttercup disappear in a flash of green, trying to convince himself that he didn't miss her presence.

* * *

"Guess what's for lunch today, folks," Buttercup announced smugly, holding up two large containers.

"Something delicious?" Butch felt saliva collecting in his mouth at the thought of Buttercup's cooking. "Meat, maybe?!"

Buttercup laughed and opened the containers in the middle of the table. "Bon appetit!"

"Mmm," Butch moaned, inhaling the aroma of the food Buttercup had distributed onto his plate before beginning to wolf it down. "Holy hell, BC, your talents never cease to amaze me."

"I considered making some leafy greens especially for you as payback for stealing my meatballs last week, but I decided to have mercy on your poor, unfortunate soul."

"Thanks, babe, I l—"

_Love you, _he would've said, if he hadn't stopped himself. He had said that to her lightly many times before without finding a problem with it, but right now he wasn't sure if he could speak without trying to figure out if he was putting meaning behind his words.

_I'm being weird_, he thought, shoving another bite into his mouth. Buttercup hadn't noticed, and thankfully the perceptive Brick and Bubbles didn't pay him any heed either.

* * *

—Her fingers dug into his bare back as he grinded against her, his mouth trailing down her neck as he dragged his tongue across her sweaty skin. He ran his hands down her thighs, wrapped around his hips as she met him thrust for thrust. He stared into her bright eyes and he kissed her desperately, needing release—

Butch's eyes flew open and he worked to control his palpitating heart, nostrils flaring as he drew in deep breaths of air. He flung his covers to the side and sighed in frustration, his erection throbbing and his mind still heady with desire.

He stumbled into the bathroom, opting to go ahead and start the day despite the fact that he was not a morning person and it was only 5AM.

"That's the third time this week," he muttered darkly, tossing his boxers into the laundry basket and stepping into the shower stall. The steam from the warm water began to fog up the glass, and he was reminded of the first of multiple wet dreams he had had featuring Buttercup, in which they had mad shower sex. He felt his blood pooling toward his nether region, and he blasted the cold water in an attempt to calm himself.

_I'm going crazy,_ he thought, shaking his head. He gripped the tile wall so hard that it cracked beneath the pressure of his fingers. _I need to control this._

Then he scoffed, grimacing at his admission. Control? That was Brick's expertise, not his. He was not familiar with control. Control could go fuck itself.

—She slowly sank down on him, closing her bright eyes in pleasure as he hissed in response. She pressed down on his chest, keeping him immobile as she controlled their pace—

Butch slammed the wall, and several tiles shattered and crumbled to his feet.

_Shit._

* * *

Butch had thought he just needed a good fuck with a hot girl, and he would be okay. So he went out on several occasions and accomplished this several times over with several hot girls, but it didn't fix anything. He wasn't okay, and he kept having wet dreams about Buttercup, and he would wake up so frustrated to the point that masturbating only provided a temporary relief. He would wake up and want to rip out his hair. Sometimes, he would wake up and want to rip off his cock.

He tried to act normal around her. They would hang out and dick around like they usually did, playing pranks on their friends and siblings and generally being jackasses to each other save for their sparring sessions, which he tried to avoid as much as possible. The sparring sessions were what started him on this path to self-destruction. They would beat each other up and then make each other laugh, and then she would look at him with those eyes of hers like she knew what he was thinking. Then he kept wondering what it would feel like to kiss her, and that was when he crossed the Point of No Return. He tried to keep his image of day-Buttercup and night-Buttercup separate, but they kept bleeding together and then all he could focus on were her bright eyes.

Which was what he was doing right now, forgetting to listen to what she was saying.

"Hello? Earth to Butch?" Buttercup snapped her fingers in front of his face, peering at his peculiar expression.

"Huh?" Butch raised his eyebrows, pretending to look alert. "What?"

Buttercup held up two concert tickets, smiling widely. "So are you gonna come to the concert with me, or not?"

"Yeah—yeah sure. When is it?"

Buttercup scowled at him, displeased. "You don't sound remotely excited for this. These tickets were hard to get, okay? If you don't want to go, I'm gonna ask Mitch; I know he loves this band—"

Butch ripped one of the tickets out of her hand. "I said I'm going."

"Geez," she muttered, "calm down."

_Calm down_, he parroted to himself, _calm down._

* * *

The concert was good. At least, whatever part of the concert he managed to pay attention to was good. They were surrounded by screaming fans in the crowd and Buttercup was screaming right along with them, but Butch found himself tuning out the music and just staring at the way her inky hair stuck to the sides of her sweaty face and how her bright eyes reflected the sea of glow sticks and flashing strobe lights.

They filed out of the arena with everyone else when the concert was over, and Buttercup turned to Butch as soon as they were outside.

"Holy shit, Butch, that was amazing!" she chattered animatedly. "This was so worth skipping family steak dinner for."

Butch couldn't stop staring at her, at her hair and her eyes and her lips stretched across her straight white teeth, and he was losing his mind. _I need to go,_ he thought. "I need to go," he repeated out loud, turning and blasting skyward.

* * *

Butch dropped onto the surface of the meteorite with a loud _boom_, creating a crater beneath his feet. He didn't know what to do with himself, and he certainly couldn't turn to his brothers for advice. At any other time he would've turned to Buttercup and then sparred with her to feel better, but this time, the problem _was_ Buttercup.

He didn't notice her coming until she socked him in the stomach and sent him flying backwards a few hundred meters.

"Alright, you bastard," Buttercup growled angrily, landing with her feet on either side of his prone body. She fisted his shirt in one hand and yanked his face to an inch of hers. "You are going to tell me what your fucking problem is, or I will beat it out of you."

Butch sneered and spat blood onto the ground beside them before pulling away from her. "I'd like to see you try."

Buttercup launched herself at him and they exchanged a series of punches and kicks, falling into their practiced hand-to-hand combat routine.

"You've been acting strange lately," Buttercup ground out, knocking Butch off of his feet with a well-timed uppercut.

Butch retaliated by swinging his leg down on her right shoulder. "Don't know what you're talking about, babe."

Buttercup glared up at him and tackled him to throw him off-balance. "Stop avoiding the issue!"

She pounded him into the ground beneath her, and she settled on his torso to punch his face a few times. She stopped when Butch didn't react, and she straightened her back.

Nose bleeding freely, he turned his head to look at her and found her frowning in concern. Her clothes were ripped up and he could see her navy bra, which he distinctly remembered unclasping with his teeth in one of his dreams.

"Are you okay?" Buttercup asked quietly, resting a hand on his chest, over his heart. He was breathing evenly but his heart was beating erratically, and Butch was sure that it would betray his feelings.

His eyes began to travel downward, taking in the way her toned legs spread out on either side of him. He struggled to keep day-Buttercup from morphing into night-Buttercup. _Stop it_, he clenched his jaw, _Stop looking_.

"You're flushed," Buttercup murmured, "Are you sick?"

When she leaned forward to check his forehead temperature, his line of reasoning snapped.

He flipped them over in an instant and melded his frame to hers, pressing their hips together. Disoriented, Buttercup's concerned frown became confused as she pushed against his shoulder.

"What are you—"

Butch silenced her with an open kiss, roughly claiming her lips. He knew she was going to kill him as soon as she came to her senses, and he knew that he was technically forcing himself on her and she could charge him for assault, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't stop kissing her lips and running his hands up and down her slim waist, and he wished she would make him stop, because he couldn't.

At first Buttercup was surprised when he had flipped their positions, and then she became uncertain when she noticed that his eyes were glazed over with—with—_something_, and then she felt a myriad of confusing emotions when he started kissing her. She slammed her fist into his chest once, but the fight seeped out of her as she realized that his hands were exciting her and she caught herself kissing him back.

"Make me stop, BC," Butch whispered in between his frenzied kisses, "_make me stop_."

"You don't have to," she gasped into his mouth, not quite registering what she was saying or doing. Her arms seemed to move of their own accord, and she wrapped them around his back and admired his muscles under her touch.

They parted for air and Butch moved his lips down to her neck, feeling the heat of Buttercup's shallow breaths on the side of his face. His hands wandered lower and he gripped her hips as he gave a hard thrust of his pelvis, grunting as his jeans chafed against his arousal. He breathed heavily between his teeth before thrusting again, eliciting a guttural moan from deep within his throat. He felt like a loose animal during mating season.

"Fuck," Butch muttered, pressing his forehead into the crook of Buttercup's neck, body tense with pleasure but unable to ignore his deep discomfort at what he was doing. "Fuck, sorry, I don't know what I'm—" _God-fucking-dammit_.

"It's okay," Buttercup said, holding her arms loosely around him, "It's okay."

Butch hadn't expected such a composed response to his unprecedented actions, but he said nothing and focused on keeping his shit together. He closed his eyes, feeling the thrum of his heartbeat begin to slow down, and waited until he was breathing steadily again.

Buttercup shifted under him and Butch rolled off of her immediately, not wanting to risk any more hip movement before he ended up tearing her clothes off. He had never had to restrain himself like this before, and, well, the struggle was most definitely real.

Buttercup propped herself up on her elbow and eyed him. "…Are you going to tell me what that was about?"

Butch met her gaze and blinked slowly. "I don't really know what that was about myself."

Buttercup nervously licked her lips. She wouldn't deny the fact that he had significantly aroused her, but she was glad that he stopped when he did. It would have been harder to handle the aftermath if they had gone any farther out into left field. To be honest, she couldn't say that she hadn't seen this coming—granted, she didn't think it would be this soon, but she was able to pick out the subtle differences in the way he treated her as of late. She had been slightly suspicious but hadn't dwelled on it, perhaps on purpose. She didn't want to lose another best friend.

But there were times when she would catch herself looking at him, lingering on the way his smile would spread slowly across his face and quirk a little crookedly to one side. There were times when she made more physical contact than necessary. There were times when she would compare him to Mitch, picking at the differences in their relationships and wondering—wondering.

They stared at each other for a while before Butch hesitantly opened his mouth. "Your eyes," he said, "look at me."

That confused Buttercup thoroughly. "Why the fuck are you stating the obvious?"

"No, they _look_ at me like you can see through me, and I just…" Butch sighed; he was not good with words. Neither of them was. "I dream about your eyes."

Buttercup recoiled. "What have you done with my best friend, you imposter? The Butch I know would _never_ say something so disgustingly corny."

"I mean literally," Butch said, lifting his head and facing her, "I dream about your eyes."

Buttercup's lips parted slightly as she studied his sincerely bothered expression and waited for him to continue.

"At first I dreamt about your eyes and that was it. They were bright and intense and I didn't know why I even had the dream." Butch flopped onto his back again. "Then I kept noticing them afterwards, especially when we would spar and your eyes would light up."

Butch paused and couldn't keep an embarrassed flush from creeping up his neck. "And then I began to have wet dreams, of you and me, and that honestly scared me for a bit."

"Since when?" Buttercup asked with a slight tremor to her voice.

"A few weeks ago."

A heavy silence hung around them as Buttercup contemplated this, and suddenly Butch was consumed by shame.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, distraught. "I didn't mean to…" _I didn't mean to mess us up, please don't hate me._

"Well, do you feel better now?" Buttercup interrupted, her bright eyes piercing his heart.

She asked him a second time when he didn't answer.

"…Yes."

"Good." She lay back down beside him, like she always did after they sparred.

"Do you mind?" Butch asked uncertainly.

"Mind what?"

"That I feel this way," he grazed his fingers against hers, "about you."

"…I don't know. Give me some time to _think_, dammit."

But she didn't pull her hand away and she merely watched him as he moved to lean over her again.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, looking into her bright, green eyes.

Buttercup closed them in response, and this time Butch kissed her slowly, deliberately.


End file.
